


Chlorine

by naboojakku



Series: A-Z Apple Playlist Short Fic Collection [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beach Holidays, Ben is 33, Best Friends, Body Worship, Come Eating, Complete, Cutting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endearments, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hope is the Thing with Feathers, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Angst, Mental Health Issues, Older Man/Younger Woman, Passive Suicidal Ideation, Pet Names, Possessive Ben Solo, References to Depression, Rey is 19, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Summer Vacation, Swimming Pools, Vaginal Fingering, age gap, because apparently I have a pool fetish, but still not rainbows and sunshine, emily dickinson - Freeform, not a songfic, shoutout to my girl, soft, supportive ben solo, this is somewhat personal tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboojakku/pseuds/naboojakku
Summary: It’s a well-known fact among Rey’s friends that she’s terrified of swimming. Despite their encouragement and Ben’s promises to teach her, Rey refuses to set foot in any body of water.But her resistance doesn’t have anything to do with swimming.
Relationships: Jannah & Rey (Star Wars), Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron & Finn & Rey & Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: A-Z Apple Playlist Short Fic Collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932367
Comments: 56
Kudos: 209
Collections: Ijustfellintothissendhelp





	1. poisonous vibrations

**Author's Note:**

> **C is for [Chlorine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOQlKBlobRY) by twenty-one pilots**   
>  **Inspired by my Apple playlist. Not a songfic.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ya it’s november & im writing another fic with a pool scene, and?????**

Maybe today will be better. 

Chomping on a piece of gum, Rey sits down on the sofa and draws her knees to her chest. She taps the tops of her knobby knees. A commercial for Dawn Dish Soap ends, and the updated weather report replaces it. 

“They act like eighty degrees is novel for May,” Jannah snorts, popping a cheese ball in her mouth. Her long legs are spread out in front of her, body slicked with sunscreen. She’s wearing a knee-length kimono over a neon orange bikini. Target, of course. 

“It’s the first week of summer,” Rey reminds her roommate, tugging the sleeves of her hoodie over her wrists. “They have to hype it up.”

“I guess.”

The two girls watch the weather report and half a news story about a rash of local robberies. Jannah finishes her snack and jumps to her feet with an excited clap. 

“I’m meeting Rose at the beach in twenty. You wanna come?” Even as she asks, her roommate slides on flip-flops and gathers her pineapple tote bag, heading for the front door. 

Rey waves a dismissive hand, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Jannah offers her a smile in return—a genuine one—and practically skips out the door, flicking on her cat-eye sunglasses. “ _Arrivederci,_ babe!” 

On second thought, maybe today will be worse. 

She leans her head back on the sofa and listens as her roommate bumbles down the stairs. In her mind she imagines Rose and Jannah meeting up with Finn and maybe Kaydel, if she manages to tear herself away from her boyfriend-of-the-week. They’ll go surfing, and Kay will tan and pretend like she doesn’t notice all the boys (and a not-insignificant amount of girls) who stare. If the ice cream trolley rolls by, Rose will demand a chocolate chipwich, and Finn will feel obliged to pay. Ben might even stop over to hang out before he’s dragged away on another work call. 

Her heart cinches tight in her chest like a rubber band stretched to its limits. He’ll ask where she is, why she didn’t come, if she’s okay. 

Rey knows she should be there too. That’s a perk of living year-round in a coastal city. They have constant access to the beach, the boardwalk, and antiquated yet somehow still entertaining arcade games. 

Her gaze wanders out the window. Too bad summer is her least favorite season.

🟨 🟡 🟨 🟡 🟨

**  
JUNE   
**

Rose holds the pool gate open for her and wrinkles her adorable nose. ( _Everyone_ thinks it’s adorable, so it’s a universal fact.)

“Aren’t you _hot_?” she demands, picking at the loose threads on Rey’s grey hoodie. It’s much too big for her, but she prefers her clothes to be oversized. The sleeves don’t bunch on her wrists. 

Rey shrugs, eyeing the blocky hotel. “Not really.”

It’s only eighty-two today. She watches the weather religiously and has notifications sent to her phone just in case there are any important updates. Rain, maybe, or like, a fire tornado. Whatever. 

Summer is full of surprises, she’s learned the hard way, and over the years Rey’s become fastidious in her attention to detail. Weather, clothes, outdoor activities, you name it—she can handle anything, as long as she has fair warning.

So far, it’s worked well.

“Hey, there’s Poe,” she says, pointing. As expected, Rose’s attention is immediately diverted. She gasps and flings herself across the open pavilion, squealing Poe’s name as if they haven’t seen each other in years instead of weeks. 

Rey and Jannah pick an empty row of lounge chairs, and while her roommate starts the arduous task of applying sunblock, Rey takes a seat, adjusting her hoodie so it doesn’t get twisted beneath her legs. 

“Can you do my back?” Jannah raises her eyebrows, and Rey nods and gestures for her to hand over the lotion. As she slathers it on, her eyes wander.

The hotel is nice, but nothing crazy. Three stories of new concrete with balconies overlooking the boardwalk. Poe managed to get away from work for a week, much to Finn’s delight, but since Finn’s still living at home and his parents don’t approve of what they refer to as his “bohemian lifestyle,” Poe’s forced to room in a hotel while he visits. No big deal. Well, maybe it is for Finn, who always feels guilty about it, but the rest of them get free access to a pool. 

Rose scurries back with hearts in her eyes, and Rey suppresses a smile. The girl is like a literal cartoon character, all bubbly and full of sunshine-y energy. Her positivity sometimes rankles, but only on Rey’s worst days. Most of the time, she’s just thankful there’s always a little light in her life.

Rose rips off her clothes, revealing a sexy red one-piece. “One of these days,” she begins, jabbing a finger in Rey’s direction, “we’re gonna get you in this water, so help me. You need to learn!”

Rey rolls her eyes. “Let me find my notebook so I can add another tally. _How_ many times have you told me that?” 

She sticks her tongue out and makes a face at the proffered bottle of lotion. “First of all, you can’t tell me you don’t ever want to take a dip in the Caribbean or Pacific. Second, never hand me sunblock again. I am offended.” 

“You’ll burn,” Jannah insists, pursing her lips. 

Rose harrumphs and crosses her arms. “I don’t burn, Ms. Calrissian. I tan very graciously.”

Jannah snorts and makes a disbelieving hum but tosses the bottle back to Rey, who delicately dots the lotion on her face and legs. At least she’s wearing shorts. She’s lucky her friends only talk smack about the hoodie; they could do a lot worse. Aside from an occasional snide comment from Poe, they leave her alone about her clothes.

Rose screams and cannonballs into the pool, upsetting a trio of senior citizens who bobble in their floats with disapproving frowns. Rey laughs, and Jannah and Finn race each other to the stairs, pushing and shoving to be the first one in.

Poe saunters over, drinking from a bottle of Pepsi. “Yo, Niima.”

“Yo,” she says dryly.

“No swimming?”

She sighs. “Not today, Poe.”

“Huh, maybe some other time.” His lips threaten to curve into his signature smirk, but Finn is watching, and Poe’s always on his best behavior around his boyfriend. 

“Listen.” He flicks a wayward piece of hair out of his eyes and cocks a hip. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of dark green board shorts that hang loosely on his hips, and like Kaydel, he’s well aware of his effect on the nearby men and women. Rey withholds another sigh. Insufferable.

“Solo should be here soon.”

At that, her heart spikes. Predictably. “Oh?”

Poe gulps down the rest of his Pepsi and gives her a sideways look. “Yup. I gave him directions to the hotel, like, an hour ago.”

“Cool.” She hasn’t seen Ben in a few days. They have some catching up to do. It’ll be nice to see his face again. Hear him laugh, watch him smile and get excited about thermodynamics or something. She’s missed him. 

Poe hums noncommittally. “You ever gonna take off that jacket?”

“Nope.” Rey disentangles her headphones and shoves one bud into her ear. 

He takes the hint and mockingly salutes her with the empty soda bottle. Finn grins and gestures for him to join them. Another cannonball. More disapproving looks. Pool games commence. Chaos ensues. 

And Rey watches from the sidelines.

Ten minutes later, Ben shows up. She’s scanning the perimeter fence, ever anxious for unexpected surprises, so she sees him first. 

His eyes go to the pool, where Rose is pouncing on Finn, Poe is fruitlessly trying to get a game of Marco Polo going, and Jannah is sunbathing on the steps. He’s wearing shorts and a plain blue shirt, hair messy and damp like he’s recently gotten a shower, which makes her smile—only Ben would shower before a pool party. 

She waves, and he catches sight of her. They’ve taken up a whole row of lounge chairs, but the pool isn’t especially busy, and no one’s complained. Ben makes his way over, dodging giggling kids and slick pavement.

“Hey, sunshine. What’s up?” He absently kisses the crown of her head and places his bags on the empty chair next to her. She notices the ink stains on his hands. Grading papers by hand—so 2007. 

“Welcome, Professor Solo,” she says dryly, nodding at the pool. “An invigorating game of Marco Polo awaits.”

Ben snorts and grabs his collar, yanking his shirt off. She blushes instantly—an ingrained response—and glances away. He’s still the palest of them all, but thanks to Rose and Finn’s persistence—it borders on bullying, really—he’s definitely spent more time out of the office than usual and has a tan to show for it. 

Rey has dreamed of those tanned biceps and his firm stomach more nights than not, which is a fact she’ll never admit. 

“Ben!” Rose shrieks happily, and the rest of the group choruses their hellos. The senior citizen brigade looks one bad hemorrhoid away from abandoning ship. 

“I see I’ve been missing out.” Ben applies a judicious amount of sunscreen, hands roving over his chest and down his sides. She crosses her arms and tries not to stare. 

“Yeah, well.” Finn and Poe circle each other in the pool like animals in a mating dance. Her heart goes soft and mushy when Poe kisses the tip of his boyfriend’s nose. They make a good couple. Affectionate. Happy. 

Ben places a big, sun-warmed hand over hers atop her knee. 

She startles, dragging out an earbud. “Uh, hey?”

“Are you sure?” He dips his head, indicating the pool. 

Her chest squeezes, and she draws herself in even tighter, like a turtle retracting into its shell. “Not today, Ben.”

He nods slowly. “Okay. Mine is a standing offer, you know. Just for you.” 

She does know that, and it makes her want to squeal into her pillow like a schoolgirl. Exclusive swimming lessons with Ben? A dream come true.

But she’s also a big fucking liar, so she can’t say she appreciates the reminder. “I know.”

With a faint frown, Ben lightly squeezes her fingers. “Well. Guess I should join them before somebody gets hurt.” It’s a running gag among them all that Ben’s the unofficial group dad, and without his supervision it’s apparently inevitable they’ll get into trouble. 

Rey nods solemnly. “Be the Marco to their Polo.”

He gifts her with a big, unself-conscious smile—one of his adorably lopsided ones—which makes her heart do all kinds of impossible gymnastics, and then he lunges forward and leaps into the air.

Rey claps when he surfaces. It’s the greatest cannonball this hotel’s ever seen.

🟨 🟡 🟨 🟡 🟨

**  
JULY   
**

For three weeks, the coast is plagued by storms and hurricanes. 

Day after day, rain. Drizzling, pouring, flash-flooding. There’s fog in the mornings and such intense humidity by the afternoon that it becomes dangerous to stay outside for too long. Heat advisories blow up her phone. 

Jannah works. When she’s home, they watch movies. Rose will visit several times a week, but she has a job too. 

Ben, who’s busy teaching a month-long summer class, Facetimes her every day, and she’s grateful. He’ll send her memes and Reddit threads and Twitter gossip. Sometimes he’ll just send a text with a single heart emoji. 

But it’s not enough.

The days run together, blurry and indistinct, endless and yet too fast. She wakes in the morning and the sky is gray. By noon it’s even darker, and by dinnertime it’s a sheet of obsidian, sparkling occasionally with vicious strokes of lightning. Thunder rips through the steaming streets, rattling the walls of the house, and dogs up and down the block start their daily clamor. 

“When will it end!” Jannah shrieks one evening, banging her head on the kitchen table. Rey carefully holds up her head and slaps down a clean dish towel. Her roommate resumes the banging.

Rey wraps herself in a hoodie—this one’s green—and stares at the ceiling. “Well, after this hurricane’s done, there’s another on the way. I think Patrice? Or maybe Petunia?” She shakes her head and grimaces at the bleak skyline. “Something with a P.”

Jannah groans.

Late at night, when she can’t sleep, when the thunder crashes and the lightning flickers through her room like a roving spotlight, Rey will stumble to the mudroom and slip into her sneakers. Then it’s out the door and into the night. 

_Away,_ she thinks desperately. _Before I do something I...can’t take back._

She’ll run for miles. Even if it’s just around and around the block. Sometimes the skies will open up and dump buckets on her head, and her hair will hang in wet sheets around her face, but still she’ll run. Her hoodie will be soaked through, and her shorts will stick to her skin, and every time she takes a step there’ll be a loud _squelch_ —all the rainwater trapped between her socks and the soles of her shoes. 

But still she’ll run.

It’s better than the dark of her bedroom. In that quiet, too-warm space, her mind will whirl and twist and distort until her eyes stray to her locked drawer. _The_ locked drawer. The rain helps banish these urges because it’s cold, and she can imagine she’s using ice cubes instead of...well, something worse. She imagines pressing them to her arms, to the places where, in the not-so-distant past, her control slipped. 

She’ll run because then at least she has something to focus on—the air exploding from her lungs, the burn in her legs, the earth-shattering cymbals crashing overhead. In those moments, her mind is blissfully empty. No urges, no bottomless well of dark thoughts. 

One night she trips on the edge of the curb and skins her hands and knees. Blood everywhere. Naturally, the skies clear up for a day or two right after, and Jannah and the others jostle for a spot on the beach, everyone desperate to see the ocean again, feel sun-warmed sand on their legs. 

Rey tags along on these short ventures, but she wears leggings. It’s ninety-five degrees now. No one comments, but Ben watches her closely, in that way he does when it’s clear—to him, at least—something’s not right. 

He hands her a bottle of iced tea and does a double-take at the angry red scratches on her palms. She smiles tightly and hides them in her sleeves. They don’t mention it, even as she feels his eyes like twin lasers on the side of her face. 

It’s better they don't know she deserves those scratches, those slashes, those cuts. 

After all, there are worse ways to inflict pain.

🟨 🟡 🟨 🟡 🟨

**  
AUGUST   
**

The second to last Tuesday of the month—of the summer, for most people—Rey receives a text. She glances lazily at her phone while sipping from a Caprisun. 

Tues 11:23 a.m.

**BEN**  
Chill time. My house. Noon.

 **REY**  
that’s literally 30 minutes from now

 **BEN**  
Oh, you’re busy?

 **REY**  
...no

 **BEN**  
Then you should literally have no trouble getting here. 

She scoffs, but it’s a lie to say she’s not tempted. He’s house-sitting for a family friend while they’re vacationing in Europe. The place is massive, and yes, it does come with a pool. A heated one, too. She imagines Rose will lose her shit over that. 

Also, he’s the only thirty-three year old she knows who unironically calls hanging out with friends _chill time._

Tues 11:27 a.m.

**REY**  
bully 😤

 **BEN**  
I have cookies.

 **REY**  
...be there soon!!! ❤️

Thankfully, she’s just missed the daily downpour. It’s fifteen blocks to the house, and she walks it with ten minutes to spare. Her nightly runs have really strengthened her endurance.

She arrives and enters without knocking. The place is spacious. Well, minimalist, really, which isn’t so much a taste as a lifestyle. Who lives in a colorless box? She stares at the abstract lines of a five-by-five foot original painting depicting wavy blue and gray lines. 

Rey shudders and moves on. It’s so... _emotionless._

On the patio, Ben’s cooking burgers. The smell goes right to her stomach, and she’s reminded that she hasn’t eaten anything yet today. Or yesterday, aside from a few dill pickles. Sometimes that happens. A day or two—occasionally three—will pass, and she’ll surface long enough to scarf down a frozen meal or leftover pizza. She’s lost ten pounds this summer, which is kind of neat. 

Ben sets down his spatula when he sees her by the ceramic table. Yeah, _ceramic._ It even looks hand-painted. Which is ridiculous, because there’s ketchup smudged on the edge. 

“Sunshine! You made it.” Ben handles her bag and loops it over the back of a chair. 

“You did say cookies,” she reminds him, “and I take that shit seriously.” 

“Come here,” he says through a laugh, tugging at her arms. She goes willingly, succumbing to his embrace. 

Everyone knows she doesn’t like to be touched, but it’s always Ben who manages to sneak through her defenses. She lets him hug her when even the innocuous graze of a finger from somebody else sends her into a tailspin. 

Little does he know she’d let him do a lot more than hug.

Ben sighs and lays his cheek on her head. She nestles close. He’s big and warm and safe. Unlike her friends—who truly do have the best intentions—he doesn’t pester her about the swimming or the clothes. They understand each other better when they’re alone, too. Words become secondary; they know what to do and how to do it without speaking, like a couple of mind-readers.

“What game do you have planned for today?” she asks, her voice muffled in his shirt.

“No games.”

She frowns teasingly. “Professor Solo, you need to keep the kids occupied or they’ll get unruly. You know this.”

He doesn’t react, and a quick sweep of her eyes across the patio tells her why. There’s no one else here. 

Her frown deepens. “Where’s everybody?” Then, slowly, “You did invite the others...right?” 

Ben bites his bottom lip, which might just be the cutest fucking thing she’s ever seen. “I thought it could just be the two of us today. One-on-one time.” 

“Oh.”

“If that’s okay with you,” he adds in a low voice. It sends shivers down her spine, like she’s been dunked in a tub of ice water. Her pulse flutters like a butterfly in her throat.

“That’s fine!” she says, a little too brightly. “I just...didn’t know—”

“I wanted to surprise you.” His eyes flicker to the pool and back to her. 

_Surprise me._ Rey has the uncomfortable feeling she knows where this is going now. “Ben—”

“I’m not pressuring you,” he says, immediately giving in. 

“ _Ben_.” She leans away, but his grip around her waist tightens. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” he promises, staring in a torturously direct way into her eyes. “But, you know, if you were interested—in learning—”

Guilt pummels her, but she forces it down. “You would teach me?”

“To swim? Absolutely.” Ben leans down so their foreheads touch. It’s very intimate, and Rey licks her lips. “In fact, I’m the only one I trust to teach you that lesson, sunshine.”

She swallows through a throat gone suddenly, painfully dry. “Professor Solo to the end.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “That's right.” 

“Will you— _Can_ you—” But she won’t put her question into words. She can’t even believe she’s letting this go further. 

“ _Yes_ ,” he says vehemently—almost a growl. A hand slides to cup the back of her neck. “Right now?”

She nods, very slightly. 

“Okay,” he breathes, eyes roving over her face like he’s checking she means it. “Do you want me to adjust the heater? I have it set to seventy-seven, but I know how cold you get.” 

Goddamnit. Just when she’s started to get a handle on her emotions, he has to go and admit something like that. He thinks she wears hoodies and jackets because she’s _cold_. In _ninety degree weather._

Rey carefully cradles his cheeks and thinks, not for the first time, _I could kiss you right now._

Aloud, she says, “Seventy-seven is fine, Ben. It’s not a jacuzzi.”

“We can make it one.” His voice dips, and his eyes flicker briefly to her mouth. 

“I’m—we—okay.” Flustered, Rey pulls back, and his arms reluctantly unwind from her waist. 

It doesn’t hit her until she’s standing at the pool’s edge. Swimming. She’s agreed to go swimming. Here, with Ben. No shadows, no excuses. 

A shaky breath shudders through her chest. She can get through this. It’s going to be— _tricky_ —but Rey’s been finding ways around this exact situation for years. Piece of cake.

Just keep him away from her arms.

Rey monitors his movements out of the corner of her eye, and when his back is turned she sets a new world record for undressing. She steps out of her shorts and throws her hoodie aside. Underneath, because she’s always prepared, even—no, _especially_ —for things she doesn’t want to do, is a modest two-piece bathing suit. High-waisted bottoms, a sporty bikini top, all black. Simple. Utilitarian, really. She never planned on showing it off, after all.

When Ben turns around, his shirt still on, Rey’s waist deep in the shallow end. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and she shivers once, but not from any perceived cold. It’s weird to be in the water again, out in the open like this, after such a long time avoiding it. 

“Whoa!” Ben exclaims, and she notes the thin edge of panic in his voice. “Hold on there—”

He hastily throws off his shirt and rushes down the stairs into the pool. Her eyes don’t know where to look—his bare chest is _right there_ —so she squints at the deep end like she’ll find something interesting there. Like a fresh-water octopus or a deflated pool float. 

He wades through the water and slides his hands around her bare waist. His grip is firm and hot. She drifts back a step. 

“Little eager, are we?” He sounds out of breath, which surprises her—he didn’t have to chase her down like that. 

She shrugs, the water lapping around them. Her arms tingle. Huh. This isn’t...unpleasant. 

“Next time,” he breaths into her ear, lips close to her neck, “wait for me. Please, sunshine.”

“Okay,” she agrees. More than anything, she doesn’t want to upset him. He’s doing her a favor, after all—the least she can do is follow instructions. “Um, sorry.”

He laughs, the sound rife with nerves. “Don’t be. You just—made me nervous for a second there.”

She looks down, shamefaced. This is so unfair. She needs to tell him the truth—that she’s known how to swim since she was five. But her stomach coils with dread. The thought of anyone knowing—the thought of anyone _seeing_ — It makes her sick. 

“Um, listen, Ben—”

But he’s not listening. He guides her slowly in a circle until she’s facing him. His hands slide across her stomach, and maybe it’s her imagination, but they seem to pause there. His eyes are dark like the dead of night. 

“If we’re going to do this, you’ll need to stay close to me,” he says roughly. “I’m not taking any chances.”

A shaky smile pulls at her lips. “I’m not going to drown, Ben.”

He rumbles low in his chest, and an ache pulses between her legs in response. Jesus, that’s hot. 

“What did I say?”

 _No chances._ Right. Rey nods distractedly and glances behind her at the water. If she can just make it to the deep end, there’s less of a chance he’ll see—

“Arms.” 

Her attention snaps to him. Ben’s hands are pressing gently on her elbows. Um, no. Nope. This is not the plan. She can’t let him see. 

But he’s insistent. “How about we just—”

Panicked, Rey steps back again. She’s still half a dozen feet from the deep end, but Ben grabs for her like she’s standing on a cliff’s edge. He tugs her into another embrace, this one uncomfortably tight, and she feels the rapid beat of his pulse under her ear. 

_I’m scaring him,_ she thinks with horror. _He’s afraid something’s going to happen to me, and I’m just letting him think that._

Fuck. That’s it. She can’t continue the charade. It’s not only unfair, it’s completely fucked up. Her emotions need to take a backseat for the time being. Time to come clean.

She sucks in a steadying breath. “Ben, there’s something I have to tell—”

“Are you trying to kill me?” he demands, cutting her off. She doesn’t think he’s heard anything she’s said. 

“Well, now that you mention it—”

“Because it really feels like you’re trying to kill me, Rey.” He laughs shakily. “We need to pause for now. I may or may not be having a heart attack.” A searching glance, one she tries hard to avoid. “I think I severely overestimated my ability to handle this.”

She grimaces. “Listen—”

But Ben has a one-track mind. “Let’s go.” 

And he’s dragging her to the stairs. It doesn’t take very much effort, she notes with annoyance. 

He manhandles her up the steps and out of the pool, which is not an especially difficult task, as she refuses to use her arms. Ben doesn’t notice—he’s too set on getting her far away from any large bodies of water. 

“Here we go—“ He wraps her up in a towel and assesses her with a slight frown. “You know, it would be better if—”

“I can swim,” she blurts finally. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Now or never. 

He tilts his head, water cascading down the sides of his face. 

“Swim,” she repeats incoherently. “I can swim, Ben.”

“No, you can’t,” he says with a small, bemused laugh. 

Rey sighs and throws down the towel. What the fuck. Enough is enough. Might as well get it over with before things get any worse. “Yeah, I can.”

And, because she’s an idiot as well as an asshole, she spins away and jumps into the pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **oh Rey you absolute buffoon** ☹️
> 
>  **and hey it’s been a stressful week but** 💙


	2. rebel red carnations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **emily dickinson? love that bitch**

Once she’s underwater, everything slows down.

Her thoughts turn to mush. The uneven beat of her heart steadies into something more like a pulse and less like a jackhammer. The skin of her arms tingles pleasantly, and she shuts her eyes against the flood of stinging chlorine. 

Down here, it’s nice and quiet. Down here, nothing aches. She pretends the world is a happy place, free of pain, free of hurt. She imagines a normal life, one where swimming pools and oceans and lakes aren’t such a big fucking deal. She pretends, she imagines, and the silence cradles her like a loving mother. 

But then a distant splash interrupts her moment, and she remembers Ben. She remembers _I can swim_ and the impulsive leap. She remembers all her many lies. With a resurgence of that familiar panic, Rey rockets to the surface and gasps in a fresh breath of air, groping blindly.

A huge hand wraps around her own, and it’s only in that single second that she realizes how much stronger Ben is than anyone she's ever known. This is a reminder that comes just in the nick of time because next thing she knows, Ben’s towing her through the water. He shoves her against the side of the pool—but carefully, in a way that suggests he’s more frightened than angry—and cages her between his arms, their legs tangling.

Breathing heavily, eyes dark like a hurricane sky, Ben breathes, “What the fuck was that?” 

_Oh, he_ is _angry,_ she thinks meekly. Miscalculation on her part. 

“S-sorry,” Rey stutters, still blinking water out of her eyes. She’s disoriented. “I thought it might be best to just show you—”

“That you can swim,” he interrupts in a hard voice. “Yes, I heard you the first two times. What you failed to understand is—” He sucks in air through his teeth, eyes sharp and glittery like diamonds. “I didn’t pause because I couldn’t hear you, Rey. I paused because I was trying to figure out why you’ve been _lying_ to me for the past two fucking years.” 

_Very_ angry. 

Rey bites her lip and glances to the side. She really doesn’t want to talk about what she’s going to be forced to talk about. He’ll be freaked out, or worse—disgusted. And then their relationship will be weird and awkward, and all their friends will wonder what’s going on, and inevitably they’ll find out the truth, too, and then—

“I just—" She stares down at the water. Her arms float beneath the surface like two pale twigs slashed with red. She hates the sight of them so fucking much. “It’s—”

But words, she’s discovered, are useless when the evidence will do just as well. 

Fed up with herself, with the lies and secrets, Rey hesitantly raises her arms and whispers, “Here.”

She doesn’t need to look to know what he sees. 

The scars are carved deep. Every inch of her skin has been marked by the slim edge of a blade. They criss-cross in places. Jagged lines on her wrists and neat little slashes in the creases of her elbows. Dozens and dozens. Most faded, but the newest ones are still fresh enough to shine a tinged red.

July was a tough month.

Her secret shame, laid bare for the world to see. And Ben... Well, he's the whole world, isn't he? This here is clear evidence that she’s not equipped to handle this life. Her pain and guilt and horror made real, made tangible, exposed in the light of day. 

It’s so goddamn ugly. _She’s_ so goddamn ugly. 

Her mouth twists ruefully. But that’s still not reason enough to stop, is it? 

Like a grape left out in the sun too long, her heart shrivels in her chest. He doesn’t say anything, and then he doesn’t say anything, and a minute passes and _he still doesn’t say anything._ She keeps her eyes on a spot between her arms so they’re nothing but indistinct blurs on her periphery. The water is blue and choppy from their movements, but she allows her mind to sink into it, to be overcome by it—

“Rey.” Gently, like he’s handling a newborn babe, Ben holds her by the wrists, his fingers overlapping. He brushes the cuts but doesn’t flinch or drop her arms like he’s been burned.

But he will. 

Rey doesn’t speak. She waits for him to recoil. 

The thing is, she gets it. Really and truly. It’s a despicable sight to witness. There are people out there suffering every second of the day—starving and begging and _dying_ —and here she is, willingly annihilating herself because she’s _a little sad._ It’s selfish and stupid and pitiful. So yeah, she gets it. 

In a flat, lifeless voice devoid of feeling, she says, “That’s why.”

If only she could be one of those people immune to the stigma. _Weak. Cowardly. Pathetic. Disturbed._ All words used to describe what she does in her most secret hours. The worst part is...she doesn’t think they’re wrong. She’s all of those things, and at night, left alone with that knowledge, these thoughts consume her, swallow her whole, until weak and pathetic becomes all she is. 

“Oh, Rey.” Ben speaks softly, in little more than a whisper now, like noise might break this moment. He holds her shaking arms, but then it slowly registers that the shakiness isn’t coming from _her_. In fact, she’s steady as a rock. 

“Yeah,” she says with a short, awkward cough. “I, uh, hate summer.”

(An understatement, perhaps.)

“I’m so sorry,” he continues hoarsely, and her head snaps up. His eyes are glued to her forearms. In his eyes, she doesn't see horror, just...sorrow. “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain. I’m sorry I didn’t _see_ —”

He’s getting choked up, which is not what she intended at _all_. Why is he upset? Helplessly, Rey flutters her fingers. “Ben, it’s not—It’s my own fault, I don’t—"

But she’s not sure what to say. Why hasn’t he backed away yet? Why hasn’t he told her to leave? In all her imagined scenarios, the outcome of such a reveal was always sure to break her heart. 

“Can I—?” He raises her arms, and she’s so confused by his reaction, she just nods. 

Transfixed, Rey watches as he gently guides her wrists to his mouth. His lips find the prominent vein in each, and he brushes his lips across the scars one by one. Her skin tingles like she’s been shocked by static, and a yawning hole opens up in her chest. This is too much. 

“Ben,” she says, voice wobbly, “don’t.”

But he doesn’t listen. Ben’s lips, dry and warm and soft like petals, drift down her wrists, across a minefield of scars. He nestles his mouth in the crook of an elbow, pasting hot, lingering kisses on her skin. She shivers and can’t tear her eyes away as he does the same to her other arm, her hands held firmly in his own. 

Part of her wants desperately to cry, but the other, stronger part wants only to sink into him. Disappear inside him, where there is only light and joy and this strange, unexpected acceptance. 

“Ben,” she repeats, and this time he looks at her directly. 

His eyes are faintly bloodshot, and there’s a pale undertone to his skin that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. She bites at her bottom lip, tearing skin. The question skips from her mouth in a burst like gunfire: sudden and loud. “Aren’t you disgusted?” 

“Dis—?“ He practically chokes, and she has a second or two to wonder if he might need a good old-fashioned slap on the back, but then Ben shakes his head, giving her a bewildered look. “Rey, I could never be disgusted by you. Never.” 

“They're just…” she whispers, staring blankly at the scars. “...so ugly.” Panic resurfaces, as it usually does when she considers what other people might think if they ever found out. Rose and Jannah’s faces flash through her mind. “Please don’t tell the others.” 

Ben gathers her into a hug, his bare chest pressing her into the side of the pool. “I won’t,” he reassures her softly. “I won’t, but Rey—”

“ _No,_ ” she says, anticipating these next words. “I’m fine, I can handle it—”

With far more ease than she’s strictly comfortable with, Ben lifts her into his arms bridal-style and carries her out of the pool. Rey clings to his neck, her eyes drawn again and again to her arms. She’s not used to seeing them so exposed. Normally, the only glimpse she allows herself is in the shower—and, of course, when the world gets to be too much and she finds herself with a blade in hand. But otherwise, she wears long sleeves to cover up the shame. 

“Where are we going?” she asks, blinking up at him. Even now, her pulse thrums at his proximity. Her mouth waters at the defined curve of his jaw. She’s imagined licking it so many times, it’s tantalizing to finally be within reach. But, as in all things, her self-control reasserts itself and tamps down her desire. 

Not the time. Not the place. 

“Inside,” he says shortly. They enter the living room, and Ben sets her down on the sofa. She squirms uncomfortably, not wanting to ruin the nice upholstery, but he plants a hand on her thigh to keep her still. Her pulse jumps like a rabbit on speed.

“We need to talk about this.” He yanks the coffee table forward until it nearly bumps her knees, then sits down, caging her in. “You can’t just show me something like that and expect—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she interrupts hastily, horrified. Does he feel obligated or something? Does he think she only showed him to force him into helping her? _Fuck._

Ben scoffs, like this is so outside the realm of possibility it doesn’t even deserve a response, but she adds in a high-pitched voice very unlike her own, “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Regret floods her chest. Stupid idea. Stupid, dumb, _idiotic_ idea. 

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “That’s not—”

“Let’s just go back outside.” She tries to stand, her arms curving protectively against her stomach. “I can swim, obviously, so—”

“Rey.” His voice is so quiet, it immediately unsettles her, and she sinks back into the sofa. “Are you going to hurt yourself again?”

Her heart bangs against her ribcage, and the pain is nearly physical. She opens her mouth, closes it, and then doesn’t know what to do. All the moisture leaves her tongue shriveled and dry. “I’m—"

“Tell me the truth,” he demands, leaning forward, hands braced on her knees. He looks a little wild. “I need to know, Rey, please—”

“I’m not,” she says quickly. It’s mostly the truth. She thinks. “I mean, I won’t.”

It’s not like she plans these things, though. The urges are constant, and they can spike at any time. 

Ben doesn’t look happy with this response. “Do you have anything sharp on you right now?”

Rey shakes her head. All the blades are at the house. She never takes them far from her room. Too risky. 

He inhales slowly, throat moving like he’s finding it tough to swallow. A horrible look passes across his face, one that makes her want to beg his forgiveness: fear. “Do you…” His voice falters, and he runs a nervous hand through his wet hair. “Shit. Do you want to kill yourself?”

“Of course not,” she rasps, shocked. _Now_ her hands are shaking. 

“What am I supposed to think, Rey?” he demands, and when his voice cracks, she lets out an involuntary sob. He gently holds one wrist and adds, eyes on a row of cuts, “I see these, and my fucking heart breaks.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and oh, _there_ are the tears. Finally, the numbness is wearing off. She sniffles and ducks her head. 

He’s not supposed to be upset. He’s not supposed to be _afraid_. “Ben—"

But he’s not listening. “You can’t leave me. Not like this.” He’s shaking his head, eyes distant. “Not like this—"

Rey squeezes his hand, brings him back from whatever edge he's teetering near. “I don’t want to die,” she admits quietly, darting quick glances at his face to make sure he’s paying attention. “Sometimes I just...need a reminder.”

“A reminder.”

She cringes. “That I’m really here. That I can still...feel. I guess.”

That's part of it. Because in her worst moments, the numbness becomes her reality. When that happens, she can’t see beyond that unreal blankness. 

Ben makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and stares at her like he’s just witnessed a devastating car crash. She hates that he’s upset, and even worse is knowing that she’s responsible. Her goal was to share this secret so he could understand why she’s always on the sidelines, but now… It’s evolved into something more. Her constant pain is echoed on his face, and seeing it there, seeing the devastation writ large on his features... It's killing her. 

Rey doesn’t know how to stop him hurting, so she acts on impulse: closing the distance between them, she presses her lips to his and shuts her eyes.

His lips are soft like silk, and he tastes like spearmint. Her body goes lax at the familiar warmth of him, at the sense of _home, I'm home._

For one endless second, the two of them are frozen. Neither of them moving, neither of them blinking or breathing. Like two statues locked unwillingly together. Rey begins to think she’s made a horrible mistake when his body goes stiff and unforgiving beneath her palms. Now he’s going to be disgusted, now he's going to be put off, and he’ll want nothing to do with her scars, let alone their friendship. 

But Ben, as always, tosses these worries right out the window.

He inhales sharply, body tensing, and cradles her face with his big hands. His mouth moves on hers, soft and eager, lips roaming to one side, then the other, teeth scraping across her bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth. She lets out a small whimper, and he moves back immediately. 

Her breath escapes in a whoosh. “Don’t go.”

“We shouldn’t,” he says, breathing heavily, eyes dark. “You—Rey, this isn’t the right—”

“I don’t want to talk,” she reminds him, flushing. Everything aches, but for once, it’s pleasant instead of painful. _This_ is a welcome distraction.

He looks torn. “I’m not going to take advantage of—”

“You’re not,” she interrupts sharply. “I’m asking you, Ben.” She licks her lips, an anxious habit, and his eyes go right to them. “Please. I don’t want to think.”

Obviously uncertain, he presses his cheek to hers and inhales slowly. She feels the rise and fall of his chest and the heat of his big body across the few inches of space separating them. 

“Rey.” Her name is both a curse and a wish, spoken almost reverently. He doesn’t say anything for another long minute. 

She senses the conflict within him. Maybe what she’s asking is wrong—or at the very least ill-timed—but frankly, she doesn’t care. He hasn’t run screaming. He hasn’t recoiled or flinched or sneered. 

She wonders, fleetingly, why she was so convinced he would. 

Rey opens her mouth, but Ben suddenly shifts, reversing their positions. He lifts her around the waist and settles himself on the sofa instead, adjusting her in his lap like it’s not the first time they’re doing this—not the first time they’re crossing this invisible line. She swallows her exclamations and allows him to hook her legs over his knees and spread them wide. 

So they're really doing this, huh? _Shit._

“Stay still,” he orders, trailing a hand up her thigh until his fingers brush the edge of her bikini bottom.

Her voice is tight with nerves. “Ben—”

His lips touch her earlobe, and she has to clamp her mouth shut to hold in a gasp. “If you want a distraction, I’ll give you one, but you have to listen. Understand?”

“I—yes,” she breathes, startled by this sudden intensity. He’s all focus now, doubts and second thoughts banished. She aches and aches and _aches_. All she wants is for him to focus on _her_ , not the terrible things she does to herself. 

Ben smoothes a calloused palm over her belly, pressing down lightly when his fingers touch the waistband of her bathing suit. Her pulse jumps again, and she unconsciously leans against his chest, letting her weight sink into him. 

It hits her then that she often seeks him out in times of distress—not just when they're hanging out, but over the phone, too, and even in her imagination. She'll curl into a small ball on her bed, pull up an image of him in her mind, and pretend he's there with her, supporting and holding and loving her through the pain. 

He’s warm and hard in all the right places. She feels...safe here. With him. Safe in a way that’s proven unattainably distant over the years. 

She watches his big hand dip inside her bikini bottom, fingers stretching the material. The sight of his hand in there brings a surprised hiccup to her lips. _Oh my god,_ she thinks weakly. _He’s really going to touch me._

His index finger traces her slit, and thank _god_ she decided to recklessly jump in the pool—there’s no way he’ll be able to tell just how wet she is now. Because of him. Because of his body and his mind and his voice and his presence. This man who’s always treated her as something precious but never desirable. 

Not until now. 

“How does that feel?” His voice is totally calm—almost offensively casual, like he’s not at all affected by what’s happening. What they’re doing. Together. 

Rey shifts her hips a little, grinding into his lap, and says lightly, “Feels nice.”

She can tell this answer displeases him. Nice is banal. Nice is boring. He once told her that the word _nice_ is one of the most insulting descriptors someone could choose to use. 

Ben grunts and runs a finger through her folds—up and down and back. Her spine arches, just a little, and her stomach muscles clench. _Jesus,_ that’s good. She has to resist grabbing him by the wrist and shoving him deeper. 

“This for me?” he murmurs, sounding pleased. Two fingers swirl in the collected slickness between her legs, and she shudders again. 

“It’s involuntary,” she says through her teeth. Her body is a live wire. It’ll be the most embarrassing moment of her life if she comes on him right now. For Christ’s sake, she needs to last at least a couple minutes!

“Mm.” He doesn’t sound convinced, but Rey quickly decides it doesn’t matter when his index finger dips inside her. 

She squeaks and grounds her hips into his lap, fighting off an orgasm. God, she’s always been a quick study—at home, in her own bed, by her own fingers—but this is ridiculous. The man knows precisely what and where to touch to trigger her body into meltdown. 

“Oh,” Ben huffs, breathing quietly on her neck. “You feel wonderful. So soft.” 

Her pussy clenches around his finger, eager for more. He lightly strokes her clit, and Rey squeezes her eyes shut against a tidal wave of sensation. Holy _shit._

“Another,” she gasps, voice shaky. “I need more.” More stimulation, more fingers, more praise. _More._

He hums like he’s considering it, but Rey knows him too well. It’s a sound that makes no promises. His finger moves languidly—no rush, no hurry—but Rey is so wet now that there are quiet little squelches every time he pumps in. She sucks in air through her teeth and lets out a low whine. 

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re missing something.”

Her head is fuzzy, thoughts sluggish like they’ve been dipped in molasses. “Wuh—what?”

“The magic word.” Ben gently kisses the crook of her neck, and she’s so overwhelmed she could cry. Even after all he’s seen, even after all the lies, he still touches her like she means everything. 

_Magic word? Magic—?_ The pad of his finger brushes her clit again, and Rey moans and tilts her head back until it meets Ben’s shoulder. He moves in slow, torturous circles, dragging out the pleasure, leading her to the edge. How is she supposed to concentrate when he’s doing _this_ to her—when all she wants is to ride his hand like an absolute animal? 

He clucks his tongue and slides his other hand beneath her bikini top, cupping a breast still damp from their brief sojourn in the pool. “C’mon, Rey, you can do it. You know what I want.”

The word shoots from her mouth without thought. “ _Please!_ I—please, Ben—”

A second finger immediately dips inside her folds and joins the first, pressing hard on her clit. The pressure is enough to send her hips jumping, and she makes a surprised “ _ah!_ ” 

All her concerns blink out one by one like little fairy lights. She grips Ben’s arms as he fucks her with his fingers, tracing her soft folds, rubbing her clit, curling them deep inside her pussy so she has to bend with them. Spine arching, she huffs and braces her feet against the edge of the coffee table. Fire licks through her abdomen, and fuck, there’s only so much self-control left in her to fight the orgasm off. 

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he rasps, working his hand so fast between her legs she feels slick arousal drip down her thighs. Splattering at first, then gushing, then finally overflowing. 

Rey keens an incoherent response. 

“You want a distraction, sunshine, I’ll give you one.” Ben bites down on her shoulder, and she starts to shake. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Please, oh my god— _I’m coming!_ ” she gasps, bucking in his lap. She can’t say anything else as the orgasm rolls through her because her teeth are chattering and her legs are spasming and she’s lost all sense of direction—up from down, left from right. The world spins, fades out, jumps forward.

Ben uses his fingers to fuck her through it, and even as she sobs his name and writhes in his lap, his erection digging into her ass, there’s no loss of control for him. He brings her to the edge, pushes her over, and gently guides her back down. 

Rey moans through her teeth as the pleasure subsides, and when she goes limp, he’s there to scoop her into his arms, kiss her forehead, whisper that she did such a good job. His mouth attaches itself to her throat, licking and biting, and after a minute or two, she sleepily guides his head from her neck to her mouth so she can taste him. 

He rises and carries her back outside. Warm summer air washes over her chilled skin. A thrill shoots through her at the sight of an orderly row of cushy lounge chairs. Just enough space on the cushions for two slick, needy bodies. 

She kicks her feet, demanding to be let down, and he obediently deposits her on an end chair. But when she reaches greedily for his swim trunks, already imagining how her legs will wrap so snugly around his waist, Ben stops her with a firm hand on her wrist. His expression shifts, morphs into something that makes her instantly uneasy. 

“...What?” she asks, surprised. Even if—somehow, someway—she hadn’t felt his erection poking her in the ass two minutes ago, she can see it clear as day now against the lining of his shorts. Thick and meaty and straining. She’s glad to be sitting; her knees go weak and trembly at the thought of him inserting that monster into her tight hole. God, she needs this distraction, needs to feel good again. 

Ben’s face is hard and not familiar to her at all. “You want me to fuck you now, is that right?”

The words are harsh, more so for their complete unexpectedness. She thought he would be...eager. Wasn't that what her orgasm was supposed to lead to? The inevitable fucking? But he seems angry and offended and...maybe not disgusted, but close enough. 

So she balks, dropping her hands. But he grabs them and slides forward, straddling the chair. The metal arms bracket her on either side. The only way out is through him, and she realizes with a creeping sort of dread that he’s still not finished with their earlier conversation. Guess the distraction didn't work so well after all. 

“Yes,” she says finally. 

He nods, lowering his voice. “You want me to fuck you with my fingers and then my cock, don’t you?”

The language is crude, but she doesn’t falter. He’s being intentionally blunt now. To what end, she’s not sure. As if she doesn’t already feel terrible enough keeping such a secret from him for so long. Why is he being so... _mean_? It feels monstrously unfair. 

“Say it.”

Rey bites her lip and shakes her head. “I’m—say what?”

Ben leans forward, jaw clenched, and snaps, “Tell me you want me to fuck you with my cock. Say it.”

“I—want you to fuck me...with your cock,” she stammers, completely bewildered. He’s being so aggressive now, and she doesn't like it, not at all. Has she done something wrong? 

“No.” Ben smiles, but it’s full of sharp edges. Humorless. “I’m not going to do that, Rey. I’m not going to fuck you, and do you want to know why?”

She shakes her head again and lowers her eyes. Tears bead and threaten to flow over, but if there’s one aspect of this curse she’s gotten good at handling, it’s staving off a meltdown when she has an audience. 

Ben persists, and now she recognizes the expression on his face for what it truly is—hurt. “You can’t just use people when you don’t want to talk about something. There are only so many distractions you can make until you have to face it, Rey.”

Her defenses rise and banish the tears. Anger takes its place. “I do face it. Every day.” She scoffs and pinches the skin of her wrist. “What would you know about that?”

“I’m not going to let you—”

“You don’t _let me_ do anything,” she interrupts, glaring up at him. Her instinctive response when threatened is to go on the attack, and she throws herself fully into it. “This has nothing to do with you. I’m handling it—”

A disbelieving laugh. “You’re _handling_ it—”

“— _yes,_ and I don’t need you telling me what to do and how to do it. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?” The words slip free, and she instantly recoils against the back of the chair. Jesus. She doesn't mean it like that. 

Ben doesn’t speak, and she keeps her eyes glued to the white fence. 

“I’m handling it,” she repeats distantly. A creeping numbness starts in her chest, a familiar sensation. She pulls her arms in close and tries to breath normally. There aren’t any razors in her bag, but there’s always the kitchen. Knives, scissors, a box cutter. Houses have plenty of nooks and crannies to hide these things. Given enough time, Rey will find them.

She always does.

“Rey.” His voice breaks, but she’s too far into it now. The meltdown, the trance, whatever. 

She shoves his emotions to the side and concentrates on her own. Her arms are burning. Sounds are a little too loud, too present—the hum of the pool filter, the cars and trucks on the nearby road, the soft shush of the midday breeze ruffling the edges of the outdoor tablecloth. 

“Please talk to me.”

But Rey doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to _feel_ or _express_ or search inside herself for answers. That shit never works. He has good intentions, but frankly, they’re not relevant. She doesn’t want to _die_ , so why won’t everyone leave her alone to handle this the way she needs to? A cut here and a cut there—a simple solution to the pain in her heart, her mind. It hurts no one but herself. 

“I’m leaving,” she says abruptly, and rises to her knees. The arm of the chair bars her escape, but that’s an obstacle easily overcome. She slings a leg over to the pavement. 

Moving too fast, Ben grabs her under the knee and yanks her towards him. She struggles, eyes wide, but he is the moon and she the tide—it’s hopeless to push and pull against him. She’s dragged into a smothering embrace. 

“Let me go!” she snaps, hitting wildly at his grasping hands. 

The burning in her arms intensifies. God, if only she had a fucking razor. It would quiet things down, slow her heart, clear her mind. She could _think._

“I can’t do that,” he rumbles, voice deeper than normal. His arms trap her against his chest, and even as she flails and kicks, he doesn’t budge an inch. 

Fury rises like a sudden storm. “Ben, fuck _off_!” 

“If I let you go, what will you do?” he demands, squeezing her too hard. She whimpers, but he doesn’t stop. He’s _crushing_ her. “What will you do, Rey?”

“I don’t know!” she wails, and oh, there are the fucking tears again. They coat her cheeks, spill over her lips, salty and wet and unwanted. Weak. Pathetic. 

Even now, she fights against the truth. _I don't know, I don't know._ It's easier to pretend. 

“You do know,” he whispers into her ear, arms restricting her movement until she goes still, adrenaline spent. “Tell me, Rey. I need to hear you say it.”

Fuck this. Fuck everything. She’s so tired of sneaking around. He wants to make her say the words? Fine. So be it. 

“I’ll find a knife,” she admits dully. “And I’ll use it. Let me go.”

“No.” He presses his lips to the back of her neck, hard like a bruise. “I don’t care if you’re upset right now. Do you understand? The only thing that matters—”

“Stop.” Rey doesn’t want to hear it.

“The only thing that matters now,” he persists, “is keeping you safe. Whatever it takes.” Then softly, imploring, “I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need help,” she insists, sniffling. The very idea is laughable. Somewhere out in the universe, there’s likely a world where people take care of _her_ and not the other way around, but it’s certainly not this one. In this world, help is never offered to girls like her. She’s had to learn everything by herself. 

“You can’t continue like this. I won’t let you,” he says stubbornly. 

Rey wiggles under the heft of his arms. “Stop being so overbearing! It’s not a big deal—”

“ _You’re hurting yourself_ ,” he snarls, and gone is the playful Ben, the fun Ben, the sweet and funny and smiling Ben. His arms crush her lungs, and his voice is deep and hoarse like a wild beast’s, and even as she slaps and pushes at him, desperate to get the hell away from all of this truth, he only closes tighter around her like a steel vise. 

“Do you even care?” he demands suddenly, voice strained like something’s gone and sucked all the air from the sky. 

Rey stops struggling, temples throbbing. “Of course I—”

“Because it doesn’t seem like you do. It seems like you’re hellbent on destruction. I’m right here, telling you I’ll do anything to help you— _anything,_ Rey—and still, you—” Ben cuts himself off and breathes heavily into her neck like the exertion is just too much. 

This is _exactly_ why Rey never wanted to expose her ugly secret. People care, or pretend they do, but they really aren’t sure how to handle such a grotesque revelation, and so their well-meaning but fruitless endeavors to help only prove how out-of-their-depth they are. Rey would rather deal with things her own way. Her options are limited, yes. She doesn’t have money for therapists or medication. The razors are a crude alternative, but they’ve worked well so far. 

Haven’t they? 

“I’m handling it,” she repeats senselessly. “I’m handling it, Ben.” 

“You sure are,” he says darkly. “But for how long? You really think you can keep this up forever?”

 _Not forever,_ she thinks immediately. _Just long enough._

But she’s never known exactly what _just long enough_ means, has she? Next year? Five years? Ten? How long can she go on until the cutting stops working? What if there comes a point when she has no choice but to escalate? 

“I don’t know,” she admits finally. Her voice wavers. “Probably not.”

“If something were to happen to you,” he whispers, “it would kill me, Rey.”

The tremor starts in her chest. A low, simmering boil. A threat, faint but edging closer. 

No one is supposed to care like that. She’s always told herself—convincingly—that nobody would be affected by her passing. Her friends might be a little sad for a week, but they’d get over it. They’d move on. 

“Don’t,” she warns, twisting away. 

“I see these marks on your arms,” he continues, ignoring her protests, “and it— Christ, it makes me want to tear my fucking chest open.” Ben laughs, but it catches at the end. “The only reason I leave my house during the week is to see you, Rey.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, but her arms are trapped and she can’t clap them over her ears. She doesn’t want to know this—any of it. Ben is her friend. Her best friend. If she dares to hope and things end badly, it might very well destroy her, burn her to cinders. 

Hope is the thing with feathers. Emily Dickinson wrote that, and god, how true. Hope is the thing with feathers, but feathers are no match for flame. 

“If you don’t show up with Poe and the others, I spend the entire time thinking about you.” Ben shifts her in his lap until she’s tucked under his chin, surrounded by him on all sides. “Wondering what you’re doing, what you’re wearing, if you’re happy. If—if you’re okay.” 

“Stop,” she whispers, but there’s no resistance in it now. It’s just something to say, a hollow protest made of air—no real opposition. He won't stop. Maybe he can't. 

“We’re going to fix this,” he says softly. “Both of us. You might be willing to go down this path, but I’m certainly not. That's too big a risk for me. You say you don’t need help, but as we’ve already established—” He kisses her throat and adjusts his grip so his arms are twined around her waist. “—I don’t care.”

“You can’t force me into anything,” she mutters, even as she asks herself, _Why the fuck are you still fighting?_

“Oh, you wanna bet?” He chuckles, though there’s nothing amused in it. “Don’t do it for yourself, then. Do it for me.”

Rey opens her mouth to protest...then closes it. That’s a fair argument, she supposes. Just because she’s mired in this...hole...doesn’t mean she can’t also recognize that the hole is selfish and, frankly, inconsiderate. She often finds it difficult to care about other people’s feelings when her own are so volatile. Managing her emotions is a full-time job. 

Ben kisses the corner of her mouth. “You know you’re the most important person in the world to me, don’t you? I mean, Rey—” He laughs, and this time it’s genuine. “I’m fucking thirty-three years old, and I still cannonball into pools. You have to know I only do that to make you smile.” His voice gets low and raspy. “That’s the only reason I do a lot of things.”

“I smile all the time,” she mumbles, red-faced and ashamed. The urges have faded and her head has cleared, and Rey finally sees just how despicably she’s been treating him. In the throes of her panic, she can often recognize her behavior, but she's unable to rectify it. As soon as her secrets are threatened in any capacity, her defense mechanisms kick in and she goes full-on bitch mode. Unhinged, wild, selfish. 

“Hm. Then it must be working.”

Rey snorts, surprising them both. She lightly taps Ben’s arms and raises her eyes for the firs time since he captured her. “Can you let me up now?”

He rises to his feet, towing her along with him, and settles his hands on her hips. A long searching look, and he dips down until his nose bumps her cheek. “You won’t run?”

“No.”

“Good, because I’ll chase you.” He taps a nonsense rhythm against her bare skin, and her whole body floods with heat. “No more jumping into random pools?”

“No, Ben.”

He nods seriously. “Happy to hear it.” 

Rey nods along with him, fighting back a smile. 

Gently, he takes hold of her wrists and turns them palms-up. For a second they both just stare at the glaring white lines. They criss-cross and snake and slash, and most are unbearably ugly, but some… Well, they might pass for tattoos. Abstract ones. Maybe. In the right light. 

So okay, maybe they’re not the _worst_ things she’s ever seen. 

“No more cutting?” he says lightly, watching her face. Ever vigilant.

“For now,” she allows quietly. She can’t make any guarantees. Hope is the thing with feathers, after all. 

But Ben’s apparently satisfied with this response. “Good. That’s good. I’m proud of you, Rey.”

She blinks and smiles humorlessly. “For what? Not severing an artery?”

He winces and sucks in a sharp breath. “Rey.”

Right. She forgets not everyone has such a macabre sense of humor. “Sorry.”

“Just something to work around,” he says with a tight smile.

Suddenly but immensely thankful for his support, wanted or not, Rey inches forward and tucks her arms around his waist. Her cheek rests on his broad chest, and the warmth emanating from him is enough to dissolve the lingering iciness in her veins. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“You always scare me, so that’s nothing new.” He embraces her quickly, as if anticipating a fast retreat. But she has no intention of going anywhere. 

“I’m not going to lie. I hate this. I hate that you know. But,” she fumbles, brushing her lips across his collarbone, “I need to do...something. Right?”

Sometimes the uncertainties, the doubts and insecurities, make what should be a straight path unclear. 

“You do need to do this,” he says firmly, but then his voice softens again, like it often does when he speaks to her. “But you don’t need to do it alone.” 

Rey knows this will be difficult. Oh, that goes without saying. Giving up the reins, allowing someone else to drive for a while. Calling or texting him for help, in moments of weakness. Relying on someone to hold her up when all she wants is to sink down low. It’s not going to be simple or easy—she doesn’t expect it to be. 

But she’ll try, and that’s better than nothing. 

Rey clears her throat and tries for some levity. “You, uh, promised me cookies.” 

“That I did.” Ben sighs and nuzzles her hair, his body going limp with relief and something else. Contentment? Or maybe it's just the absence of fear. “Mm. Smells like chlorine.”

A smile edges at the corners of her mouth. With their bodies pressed together, no space between them now, she kisses his shoulder and closes her eyes again. There’s plenty of time for all the rest.

For now, this is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **mmmmm yeah sometimes it's the little things. baby steps, ya know. the urges mentioned in this fic can be managed, just like any mental illness, but they never really go away. take it from someone who knows.**
> 
> **thank you for reading xo**

**Author's Note:**

> ~~say hi! (or come yell at me)~~  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/naboojakku)  
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> 
> **OTHER WORKS**
> 
> Fluff
> 
> [Saving What We Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23328586) (complete)  
> [#dirtytextchallenge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771213) (oneshot)  
> [The Artist's Garden At Giverny (1900)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24307039) (oneshot)  
> [Steal My Heart (There Are No Returns)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701381) (oneshot)  
> [Only By Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673103) (oneshot)  
> [Love Only Matters When We Bleed For It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415190) (complete)
> 
> Darkfics
> 
> [if you can't live without me, why aren't you dead yet?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25361551) (WIP)  
> [drenched](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117876) (complete)  
> [I've Got A Dark Alley & A Bad Idea (That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814914) (oneshot)  
> [never bet the devil your head](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24609829) (complete)  
> [Chasm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962308) (complete)  
> [In Our Darkest Hour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810736) (complete)  
> [Stifle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24724003) (oneshot)  
> [Aggressive Expansion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568556) (complete)


End file.
